The top part of Pridmore turned into painted iron and glass

Having re-read my way through all three-and-a-bit books about the Bastable siblings, I couldn't resist moving on to some of E. Nesbit's more magical (and brilliantly silly) children's stories - particularly her significant 1901 work, "The Cockatoucan". It's significant because of the nursemaid you can see in the centre of this picture. Her name? Pridmore!

Pridmore is a fairly uncommon name, an exclusively working-class one, and one that's historically been limited to the north and midlands areas. So when it comes to Victorian fiction (and for that matter modern-day fiction too), you'll never see a central character named Pridmore. You might, if you're very lucky, find the name applied to a servant... but even then, this one story by the great E. Nesbit seems to be the only time that's ever happened in history!

I don't know where Nesbit (the E stands for Edith, but she was always credited as E. so I feel I should just call her that) got the name from - this story, like all the stories back then, is set in London, where Pridmores were and still are vanishingly rare. Maybe she encountered a distant relative of mine, somehow!

She might not have really liked this relative, mind you. Pridmore in this story is a disagreeably strict kind of nursemaid, and the magical bird (which causes strange things to happen whenever it laughs) turns her into an Automatic Nagging Machine.

For before her eyes she saw an awful change taking place in Pridmore.

In an instant all that was left of the original Pridmore were the boots

and the hem of her skirt—the top part of her had changed into painted

iron and glass, and even as Matilda looked the bit of skirt that was

left got flat and hard and square. The two feet turned into four feet,

and they were iron feet, and there was no more Pridmore.

 

“Oh, my poor child,” said the King, “your maid has turned into an

Automatic Machine.”

 

It was too true. The maid had turned into a machine such as those which

you see in a railway station—greedy, grasping things which take your

pennies and give you next to nothing in chocolate and no change.

 

But there was no chocolate to be seen through the glass of the machine

that once had been Pridmore. Only little rolls of paper.

 

The King silently handed some pennies to Matilda. She dropped one into

the machine and pulled out the little drawer. There was a scroll of

paper. Matilda opened it and read—

 

“Don’t be tiresome.”

 

She tried again. This time it was—

 

“If you don’t give over I’ll tell your Ma first thing when she comes

home.”

 

The next was—

 

“Go along with you do—always worrying;” so then Matilda knew.

 

“Yes,” said the King sadly, “I fear there’s no doubt about it. Your

maid has turned into an Automatic Nagging Machine. Never mind, my

dear, she’ll be all right to-morrow.”

 

“I like her best like this, thank you,” said Matilda quickly. “I

needn’t put in any more pennies, you see.”

 

“Oh, we mustn’t be unkind and neglectful,” said the King gently, and he

dropped in a penny. He got—

 

“You tiresome boy, you. Leave me be this minute.”

 

Pridmore saves the day in the end. The only way to undo all the Cockatoucan's magic (which also included turning the King into a villa-residence, replete with every modern improvement, and the Prime Minister into a comic opera) is to make him laugh on the wrong side of his mouth, and Pridmore gladly obliges. "It was a terrible sight to witness, and the sound of that wrong-sided laughter was horrible to hear." I think we should all follow this shining example!